


Sweet Marjoram

by Sugar_and_Salt



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Romance, alternative universe, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugar_and_Salt/pseuds/Sugar_and_Salt
Summary: For as long as Junmyeon could remember, the people in his village had avoided him.For as long as Jongdae lived in the village, he had been the sole exception.





	Sweet Marjoram

**Author's Note:**

> to the prompter: hello, dear! I might have tweaked your prompt a tiny, tiny bit, but I still hope you can find some enjoyment in this <3
> 
>  
> 
> (prompt #19)

 

For as long as Junmyeon could remember, people had hated him.  
That's what he'd thought as a child, at least.  
It wasn't like anyone had ever gone out of their way to hurt him, but they didn't want him near their homes or children either. Nobody wanted to talk to him or associate with him in any way.

When he grew a little older, he thought that maybe it was because he had no parents and that the village hated having to care for him. To bring him food, or to leave clothing at his door, or to occasionally clean the tiny hut he was living in.

He still believed that when he turned twelve and a neighbour dropped cleaning utensils on his doorstep, telling him that he was responsible for himself, starting from that day.

It was around that time, when he went to the market to get some fruits, that his perspective changed.

The memory was still clear in his head, even years later. He'd been trying to get a few apples from the middle-aged lady selling them, and when he almost touched her hand, she flinched back and yelled, and then screamed at him to get lost.

Shocked by her outburst, Junmyeon had started crying, and by the time he had reached his hut, he was convinced that no matter how hard he tried to be a good kid, people would continue to hate him forever.

It was that day, too, that he first met Jongdae.

On every other day, a boy around his age willingly walking up to him would concern Junmyeon, maybe even frighten him, but back then, he was too busy crouching down in the grass, crying loud and uninhibited because no one would care, anyway.

"Hey. Why are you crying?"

There was a hand on his shoulder, and it was Junmyeon's time to flinch in shock. Through his tear-stained vision, he saw a curious, concerned type of expression no one had ever shown him. Maybe it was that unexpected amount of kindness that made Junmyeon say what he said.

"You shouldn't talk to me."

"Says who?" was the immediate reply, and despite Junmyeon somewhat shirking away, the hand on his back didn't leave as the other crouched down next to him. Junmyeon had never seen this boy before. He must be new to the village.

"Says everyone," Junmyeon mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Everybody in this village hates me. Something about me is wrong."

"What's supposed to be wrong about you? I can't see anything," the boy stated, tilting his head from left to right as if that would give him a new perspective.

"Are you the boy living in this hut all by yourself?"

Junmyeon nodded, and the boy hummed, as if things would suddenly make sense.

"I see. My mom told me about you. We just moved here, you know?"

Junmyeon nodded again, overwhelmed by the fact that someone would actually talk to him like he was just any other kid roaming the village. The other seemed unbothered as he absently rubbed Junmyeon's back, looking for the right words to say.

"You know, I think they don't hate you. I think they're just really, really scared of you. That's their fault though, right? Not yours."

Junmyeon had so many questions back then, but an angry yell cut them off before he could voice them.

It was the mother of the boy, and she sounded furious.

"Well, I better leave now," the boy quipped, and after a few steps, he paused to turn back one last time.

"I'm Jongdae. What's your name?"

Junmyeon thought that it was silly of him to ask if he obviously knew about him already.

It was kinda pointless. The nicest, pointless thing someone had ever done for him.

"I'm Junmyeon."

"Alright, Junmyeon - see you later!"

 

It took a few days for Jongdae to find him again. When he did, he was wearing gloves, calling it a compromise. Junmyeon didn't want him to get into trouble with his mother, but Jongdae waved him off.

For almost two years, Jongdae sought him out in secret, coming to find him whenever Junmyeon was alone. When he was sitting in the tiny garden behind the hut, reading a book, Jongdae would pop up out of nowhere. When it was pouring outside, chasing all the villagers into their houses, Jongdae would sneak out and stand on Junmyeon's doorstep, drenched from head to toe and smiling like the sun. Nothing and nobody seemed able to keep Jongdae away from Junmyeon, and as much as Junmyeon was worried for him... secretly, he cherished it. The loneliness became so much easier to bear when he had something to look forward to.

At some point, he started to gather herbs and copy maps to earn some money, and by the age of fifteen, he had saved up enough money for a second set of blankets, in case Jongdae ever wanted to sleep over. He did, bringing snacks or card games, and at some point, it became a tradition for him to sleep over on stormy nights.

Obviously, Junmyeon wasn't afraid of howling wind and thunder anymore, but having someone to keep him company felt good. Like it could somehow slowly make up for all the nights he had spent under his blankets as a kid, cowering in fear.

One thing that never changed, though, was the fact that Jongdae wore gloves around him at all times. Junmyeon never asked him to take them off and was careful not to get near his face. It was a compromise he was easily willing to make.

If this was the only rule he had to abide by, then so be it.  


* * *

 

It was a sunny day in May when Jongdae stood in front of his door, holding up a cake and grinning so hard that it infected Junmyeon immediately.

"Happy Birthday!"

Junmyeon couldn't help but laughing a little - there was no particular reason other than that he was happy.

"You remembered."

"Of course I did, who do you take me for?" Jongdae beamed, pushing the small cake in his hands. On the smooth whipped cream, someone had clumsily written his name and the number 18, circled multiple times.

"I wrote it myself, sorry. Not a big artist, as you should know," Jongdae provided as he walked past Junmyeon like he was entering his own home (which Junmyeon hoped was what it felt like to him). They wisely didn't address the fact that none of the villagers would be willing to dedicate him a cake, but Junmyeon preferred it this way, anyway.

"I have a special present for you," Jongdae announced before he even cut the cake. He'd never been good at holding things back.

"The cake is enough of a present already," Junmyeon protested, and he meant it - as a courier, Jongdae wasn't exactly rich, either.

"Yeah, the fact that I didn't make the cake myself might be considered your first present," Jongdae admitted, eager to get to the point, "because like this, you'll live to see the actual present. I was thinking, you see..."

He trailed off, suddenly unsure, and Junmyeon couldn't help grinning.

"You were thinking? Don't make me wait for it now. I'm sure I'll love it."

Jongdae took a deep breath and grabbed Junmyeon's hands.

"You know I'm off age now, right?"

"Yeah?" Junmyeon asked hesitantly, not sure where this was going.

"Right. And on my birthday, I told my parents that I'm my own person now, and that they can't tell me to not spend time with you anymore. Not like it ever really worked, but still. And I was thinking we should do some things you never really got the chance to do."

Junmyeon was too taken aback to even read the potential insinuations between the lines.

"Like what?" he asked, confused.

"I don't know," Jongdae admitted, not letting go of his hands. "Whatever you always wanted to do but couldn't. Go and eat at a restaurant, maybe. Or partake in a festival or a competition or whatever you can think of, really."

Junmyeon thought about that. Technically, he was tolerated inside the village, but there really was no reason for him to be there, with the way he was treated. With Jongdae keeping him company, though, maybe things would be fun. Maybe he'd be less scared. It would be a huge sacrifice on Jongdae's end though. Surely, he'd be uncomfortable-

"It's lame, isn't it?" Jongdae asked, biting his lip, and Junmyeon hurried to squeeze his hands, making him look up again.

"No! No, it's not, it's- amazing. It's really amazing that you wouldn't mind to be seen with me, just. I can't think of anything right now-"

"Okay, good," Jongdae cut him off, relaxing visibly. "Good. You had me there for a moment. I was getting nervous."

Junmyeon chuckled, but his cheeks were dusted red.

Again, there was no particular reason. He was simply happy.

"You can be so silly," he commented, gingerly cutting a slice of the cake.

"So I've heard," Jongdae replied easily, sinking into a chair, holding out his plate with child-like expectation, but his eyes remained on Junmyeon.

"Let me know if you think of something, okay?"

Junmyeon promised.  


* * *

 

"So?"

Junmyeon stared at the food before him with wide eyes.

"It's really good," he said, voice barely above a whisper and dripping with astonishment.

"Right? I love this dish," Jongdae proclaimed, unwilling to lower his voice, despite the very few people in the tavern staring at them rather blatantly.

Junmyeon's first wish had been to eat some really nice food, which had prompted Jongdae to bring him to the tavern located in the heart of the village, where they were now, both leaning over a steaming bowl of homemade soup.

The tavern seemed to clear out as they ate, and Junmyeon tried not to let it get to him. He was still nervous but with Jongdae around, no one would approach them. It would be fine.

"So, Junmyeon..." Jongdae began, trailing off.

"Hm?" Junmyeon asked around a spoonful of soup, glancing up at him.

"Remember when we were kids? Remember how you'd keep asking me why people treat you the way they do?"

Junmyeon lowered his spoon. He glanced around the tavern - the only people around them sat at the bar and would hardly hear them. Then he nodded.

"Do you.... still want to know or not?" Jongdae asked carefully. "You can say no, of course. I just wanted to give you an option. I don't want to keep anything from you."

"Of course I do," Junmyeon replied immediately. Jongdae nodded, and then plucked out some of the meat in his soup to give to Junmyeon. He didn't say anything after that, and while Junmyeon was itching to ask, he didn't want to hear it in such a public place. He'd waited all his life, so he could wait some more.

It was on the way back to his hut that Jongdae brought the topic back up. They were holding hands, as usual, the fabric of Jongdae's glove slightly rough against Junmyeon's palm.

"You know, back when you were a kid, one of the villagers, a guy who isn’t with us anymore..." Jongdae began, trailing off awkwardly. Junmyeon waited, because he knew Jongdae wouldn't leave him hanging.

"He tried to harm you, I guess, because he was aggressive and drunk, and when he touched you, he received a bruise from it."

"What do you mean?" Junmyeon asked, instinctively trying to tug his hand free, but Jongdae wouldn't have it.

"It was a huge bruise blooming over the hand he used to touch you with," Jongdae explained vaguely, staring ahead as they kept walking. "It didn't hurt though. It was just a really big, misshapen black spot that stayed for the rest of his life."

"Why did he die?" was Junmyeon's first question, quiet and hesitant. Now Jongdae was looking at him, shooting him a small smile.

"It had nothing to do with the bruise. He was just drunk and careless. My mother says he's always been a terrible person, but..."

"...but they think it's my fault," Junmyeon ended the sentence. It did hurt, actually, but after all these years of living in isolation, he was less affected than he thought he would be when he finally found out. A part of him thought "That's it? A single bruise was enough for them to condemn a child?" but he had been too young to remember any of this. He couldn't know for sure that it hadn't been him who had driven the man to his death somehow.

"I don't think it was your fault," Jongdae said when they stood on his doorstep. There was no doubt that he meant it, and Junmyeon wondered whether he deserved this kind of faith in him.

"I'm sorry if I ruined tonight. We can go out and eat again any time-"

"Don't apologize," Junmyeon said, surprised by how firm his own voice sounded.

"Don't ever apologize for being in my life, Jongdae."

Surprise melted to an embarrassed little laugh.

"You're so cheesy," Jongdae said, but his smile and flushed cheeks spoke differently.

 

* * *

 

"I'd like to go to the summer festival," Junmyeon announced one day, while they were out in the forest, gathering herbs. "Sure," Jongdae had replied, and that was it. Unlike him, Junmyeon got increasingly nervous and when the night of the annual festival arrived, he was an anxious bundle of nerves. Jongdae didn't allow him to dwell on it for long, and only tugged him from booth to booth, firmly holding his hand at all times. Junmyeon thought that it was really admirable, how little Jongdae seemed  to care about the scalding, disturbed or disgusted looks sent their way. It was his confidence that made the experience bearable, that made him forget the looks in favour of watching Jongdae play games. He even coaxed Junmyeon into joining him, and laughed no matter who won or lost, because that's what Jongdae was like. It was the most exciting and nerve-wrecking thing Junmyeon could remember doing in his life, so while it was fun, he was a little relieved when they were alone again, lying on a grassy hill and waiting for the fireworks to start. Jongdae had bought him roasted nuts, and had brought a bottle of water along for them to share.

Junmyeon had seen the annual fireworks before, but never did he have such a good view, or someone else to watch it with; someone to point out his favourite flowers in the sky to. Before, Jongdae had spent the summer festival with his family, but this year, he’d followed Junmyeon’s wish and stayed with him instead. It was a sacrifice on his end, one that Junmyeon wasn’t able to estimate the value of, so he was determined to cherish every second of it. A selfish part of him wished the night would go on for much longer, wished for the fireworks to paint the sky until the sun rose; but as it was with most beautiful moments, they passed all too quickly, leaving behind a foggy kind of melancholy.

"Say, Junmyeon?"

Junmyeon hummed. He was lying on his back, staring into the starry sky, and Jongdae lay next to him. Their sides touched, and it in a bittersweet way, it was both fulfilling and caused his heart to ache.

"Did you ever do something magical?"

Junmyeon actually snorted at that, and turned his head, but Jongdae had trouble meeting his eyes.

"What do you mean? Aside from spreading the plague as a child?" Junmyeon asked, trying to sound unaffected.

"Don't say it like that," Jongdae chided softly. Junmyeon shrugged, but he didn't smile.

"You know, I asked around a lot,” Jongdae began, “and it took me a long time to find out, because nobody was willing to tell me but... there's a reason the village is so scared of you."

"You already told me the reason though, didn't you?" Junmyeon asked, and a tiny cloud shifted in front of the moon, sprinkling shadows over Jongdae's face.

"That's not it, not really," he admitted. He was so close that all Junmyeon would have to do was lean in, but he wasn't allowed to. He mustn't.

"Your mother was a witch," Jongdae said, waiting to see how Junmyeon would take this information, but he only stared at him with mild confusion. He didn't know witches still existed.

"Your mother was a witch, and the villagers were... scared of her. They- they took her life."

Junmyeon tried to determine whether he was feeling anything upon hearing this. He'd had a mother at some point, but she had been murdered. He was a little sad that he had never gotten to know her, but it was hard to miss something he'd never had.

"And with her dying breath, she vowed that anyone who would ever put a finger on you would direly regret it. People believed her," Jongdae explained slowly. Junmyeon turned his head to look back up at the stars.

"So I'm a cursed child."

The scratchy fabric of Jongdae's gloves landed on his cheek, turning his face back to the side, to face Jongdae, whose eyes were shining in the moonlight.

"I think you're a blessed child," he said quietly. He got a hold of Junmyeon’s hand, tugging at his sleeve to cover the skin just enough to place a kiss on his wrist, over the fabric.

Before he could draw away, Junmyeon grabbed his hand to place a kiss on his palm, feeling the robust fabric of Jongdae’s glove against his lips.

For a cursed person, he sure was allowed a lot of happiness, Junmyeon thought.  


* * *

 

"I would like to go out in the rain. Without an umbrella."

 

Junmyeon regretted his reckless idea a little when he was staring out into the storm from his doorstep, but Jongdae thought the idea was fantastic and tugged him out into the storm with no hesitation.

The wind was howling, harshly tugging at their clothes and whipping against their cheeks while rain was pouring down on them, drenching their clothes almost immediately. The mud was splashing beneath their feet, and it was hard to breathe.

"We'll be so terribly sick tomorrow!" Jongdae yelled against the rain, and he was laughing. Seeing him laugh loosened a knot inside Junmyeon as well. He was right. They'd probably get sick, so he should enjoy this properly. And when he thought about it as he aimlessly ran and stumbled over the wet grass beside Jongdae, then yes, this was good. Great, even. It felt great not to worry, and to let the rain drench every inch of his skin, to feel the water drip down his lashes and run down his neck. It felt so, so freeing.  
He was outside, but not scared of anyone. There were no scornful villagers on his mind, no curses, no worries. Just the rain on his skin, the wide, wide ocean of clouds above him, and Jongdae. Who was equally drenched, holding up his palms in an attempt to gather water, all the while laughing like a child. Junmyeon was pretty sure that he'd never in his life seen a more beautiful person than him. It was entirely pointless to fling rain at each other when they were both dripping already, and yet it seemed like the most natural thing to do. By the time they stumbled inside Junmyeon's hut, they both just sank to the floor in the entrance way, uncaring of the water and dirt staining the ground. For some inexplicable reason, they were both chuckling, laughing about a joke no one could remember telling.

"That was fun," Jongdae breathed out, both palms resting on his Junmyeon's thighs as he heaved for air. Junmyeon's fingers were frozen, but he still returned the gesture, holding on to Jongdae's forearms, numb fingers digging into the wet fabric. The feeling of liberation was still sticking to his skin, salty and cold.

"That was just reckless," Junmyeon stated, and Jongdae was still smiling.

"That, too. Most fun things are."

Junmyeon was still feeling reckless though, so he said something that had been echoing around his mind for many nights.

"There's something else I'd like to try."

"Oh yeah?" Jongdae asked without hesitation, as if he didn't mind giving Junmyeon the world.

"Just one more thing, I promise," Junmyeon added, and he felt the nervousness creeping in, so he gave himself a push, deciding to risk it.  
"I want to try holding your hands."

Jongdae looked surprised at that, and for once, he didn't immediately agree, nor did he laugh it off. Junmyeon bit his lip, lowered his gaze, but didn't take it back.

Without a word, Jongdae slowly tugged off his gloves, and Junmyeon watched him, holding his breath. It wasn't easy, considering how soggy and wet they'd become, but Jongdae moved with calm precision, something Junmyeon couldn't claim for himself. He felt himself shaking a little, and wasn't sure whether the cold alone was responsible.

When the gloves were lying in a small puddle on the floor, Jongdae halted. Junmyeon looked up to meet his gaze. There was a spark of something in there, something Junmyeon couldn't quite interpret. His wet lashes fluttered down and Junmyeon followed his gaze to see him take his hands, holding both of them together. It should have been cold and clammy, but it wasn't. It was warm, prickly, and send a pleasant tingle down his arms, neck and back.

Then he saw something flicker up, like ink bleeding into paper, little dots of green appearing on Jongdae's skin, and with a start, Junmyeon tried to pull away. Jongdae wouldn't have that, though, and only clasped his hands tighter with a quiet hush.

"It's okay," he hummed. "I'm not afraid."

Junmyeon was afraid though - he regretted his selfish request, and if it meant that Jongdae would be hurt, then he would never-

It happened too fast for Junmyeon to register it, but without warning, Jongdae had pressed his lips against his in a soft, innocent kiss.

It sparked even more of the warmth, the fluttery, prickly, beautiful excitement. What had been hard to read in Jongdae's eyes seemed so very obviously conveyed through his touch. The gentle, careful way he pressed his lips on Junmyeon's again and again, entirely unrushed, breath hitching when Junmyeon mirrored his actions, all of it spoke to him, loud and clear. And Junmyeon, who wouldn't have expected to ever be allowed to experience any of this, wanted to cry.

When they finally parted, Jongdae was the first one to look down at their hands, and a breathy chuckle escaped him.

"Look at this," he whispered.

Instead of an ugly bruise, a green plant had appeared on Jongdae's hands, winding itself up his fingers... but also traveling up Junmyeon's skin, loosely curling around his wrists.

"What kind of plant is this?" Jongdae asked, and this might be the first time that Jongdae was the one keeping his voice quiet, in awe of the moment.

Junmyeon didn't have to think.

"Sweet marjoram," he said.

"How very strange," Jongdae hummed thoughtfully, not letting go of Junmyeon's hands.

"You think so? I don't think it's strange at all," Junmyeon admitted.

"Really?" Jongdae asked, eyes flitting up to meet his. "What does it mean?"

Junmyeon smiled.

"I'm not gonna tell you," he replied quietly, and Jongdae chuckled, lifting their hands to his chest, as if he wasn't planning on ever letting go.

"I'll find out either way," he stated, and Junmyeon leaned in to kiss him again.

He would, he was sure of that.

 

After that fateful day, it didn't take Junmyeon long to realize that Jongdae had awoken the magic that had been slumbering inside of him. Whenever he reached out and tried to tug at the ancient powers his mother had left him with, the leaves adorning his fingers would feel slightly warm, and so would Jongdae's.

As a child, Junmyeon had read about ugly old hags having crows or mean-looking cats as their familiars. He, however, had Jongdae.

Maybe he was a blessed child, after all.

  
  



End file.
